Such a Jerk
by 08joanna
Summary: House's thoughts as he rides back home from Cuddy's at the end of "The Itch." It's a stream-of-consciousness kind of thing.
1. Chapter 1

I'm such a jerk. What the hell was I thinking? Guess I wasn't really thinking at all, riding over here like a crazy lovesick kid. Watching her through the window, sitting there in her perfect living room on her perfect sofa, was as far as I could get. I just couldn't make myself knock on her door. Why? What the hell is wrong with me? So now I'm hobbling back to the bike like an idiot. I forgot my cane, dammit! That never happens. How the hell could I have forgotten my cane?

Five more steps to the bike. No helmet, either; my skull's already been through the ringer, and that's just plain stupid. Well, I've gotta chance it. Time to haul the leg back over this thing and get the hell home. Ow. I gotta let it calm down for a minute and then get away from here as soon as possible, before she glances out her window and sees me.

Tried to start it up without making a racket and now at least I'm out of her neighborhood. I'm such a coward. I called the agoraphobe a coward, but of course the comment was directed at myself as well. Wonder if Cameron picked up on that. Oh, who cares what she thinks, anyway? And Wilson, goading me to act on this Cuddy thing. Why do I listen to him? Why do I let him get to me? Why do I let Cuddy get to me? But she does; I can't deny it. I know what would've happened if I'd knocked on her door. She's still vulnerable from losing the baby, and one look in those damn gorgeous eyes of hers would've turned me into a drowning man. That's all it would've taken for us to start up again, and we wouldn't have stopped at a kiss this time. I would've stayed, all night, and we would've been going at it hot and heavy for as long as my leg held up. Then morning would've come, and we'd have awkwardly looked at each other and wondered what comes next. There's the rub. What comes next? Because I know being in a relationship with her could be great, but it could also screw everything up big time. Even after just the kiss I was tentative around her, not wanting to push back at her over my patient like I normally do. Not wanting to annoy her. Trying to cut her some slack because I know she's hurting and I know she needs me. And I know I don't have it in me to be there for her long-term. That's what it would take, and she and I would kill each other trying to love each other. I know it. Better to not even go there. Better for her, and better for me. Damn! Why is every potentially great thing in my life also filled with such minefields?

Another four blocks to my apartment. I need to get horizontal as fast as possible and down some scotch and Vicodin if I expect to sleep at all tonight. I'm just glad Cuddy didn't see me at the window. At least, I'm pretty sure she didn't see me. How would I explain it tomorrow if she did see me? I'm crazy. These thoughts are crazy. Dad used to call me that; maybe he was right, about that at least. The last time I saw him (alive, that is) he told me I don't know how lucky I am. Lucky? Was he kidding? He was more of a jerk than I am if he really thought that. Yeah, I'm fuckin' lucky. Lucky enough to have a dad that resented me and pushed me around and always tried to shake my confidence. Lucky enough to have an aneurysm (at age 39, for Christ sakes) which caused a clot which caused an infarction which permanently messed up my leg, and a girlfriend who overreacted and then ran away when it got tough. Lucky enough to get shot by a whack job while working in my own office. Lucky enough to have the coin land on the wrong side in the Ketamine sweepstakes. Lucky enough to be on a bus that got slammed by a garbage truck, with Wilson's girl sitting across from me, right in the line of fire. Yeah, I'm real lucky. That's the kind of luck that should be reserved for serial murderers and rapists.

Back home. What a lunatic exercise in futility that was. Three steps up to the door; I'm never forgetting my cane again! Ah, home sweet home. The phone's ringing, but I'm not gonna answer it. Damn, it's Cuddy's number on the caller ID. Did she see me? Or did she not see me and is she just calling for the hell of it? I can't pick it up. I can't. Gotta lie down. Gotta get my mind to stop. I'll deal with it tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Can't fall asleep, though I've been lying in bed for, what, about two hours now. Trying to avoid continually glancing at the clock, but it's gotta be after two. She tried calling again about ten minutes after I got home, but then gave up, and the phone hasn't rung since. I bet she saw me, and I don't know what to say to her tomorrow if she brings it up.

If she asks me, point blank, I suppose I could deny even being there, but obviously that won't work. How many limping, motorcycle-riding, 6'2" men who look like me could there possibly be in Princeton? Can't tell her I needed advice on a case but figured it out on the ride over, since she knows I don't have a new case. I could claim I just wanted to check up on how she's doing, and once I saw she was fine decided to go back home. A likely story! This is ridiculous. I can't fall asleep and I can't come up with a decent excuse for being there. Maybe honesty really is the best policy in this case. Tell her I was thinking of her and impulsively acted on it, and then thought better of it when I got there. The reasons don't really matter, but she'll want to know them, so I could honestly say that being with her would further complicate our already complicated working relationship and thereby jeopardize patients, so that's why I didn't knock on her door.

I wonder if she's already spoken to Wilson about it. She may have called him after I didn't answer, to see if I'd told him anything about dropping by. Damn – he'll see right through whatever I say, since he's the one who urged me to go over there. He always thinks he's got me figured out, and sometimes he does, but there's a lot I don't let him in on. I try to take what he says with a grain of salt most of the time, but I can't – he may not know me as well as he thinks he does, but he still knows me better than anyone else.

I'm getting myself worked up over nothing. Maybe she didn't see me after all. I need to get some rest. Maybe one more pill would do it, but I don't see the bottle on the nightstand. Must've left it in the bathroom, and I don't feel like getting up. Maybe if I try to read something boring my mind will turn off and I'll doze. At this point I'll take dozing over a good night's sleep, since I never really get a good night's sleep anyway. I think the pile of boring reading just for this purpose is still under the bed. Gee, it's dusty under there. My fingers have found something – feels like medical journals. Gotta find an old one with outdated info that won't stimulate my thinking. A typical activity at two a.m., chez House. I'm so pathetic.


End file.
